The Arthur Effect
by TazeeWockee
Summary: So, I read a story about Ariadne coming across Arthur's diary. Well, I was thinking what if it happened the other way around? My first Inception fic, so don't judge. Love you. :


_There's what I call the Arthur effect. And how one can get so easily caught up in it. _

_Everything about Arthur is perfect... and wrong. Behind my best disguise, I try to observe everything there that is for the eye to see. _

_His voice is perfect. It is deep, low and has that nice, calm timbre that sounds dominant and superior but polite at the same time. It is carefully-modulated and even when faced with a tornado it doesn't falter. It isn't smooth like Cobb's. It's rough and there's that distinct sultry roar that bubbles from his throat, punctuating every syllable that ever leaves his mouth. Even when he swears, it sounds like a promise. That... and it's sexy, too. _

_His eyes are perfect. They hold wisdom that seems to be infinite, courage that never disappoints, and whenever he looks at me through them, I always feel like he knows every secret in the world. They aren't strong-structured like Eames's, but they're powerful. They're lazy, too, blinking ever so often in a span of a mere one-minute eyecontact. I get lost in them sometimes, wishing there was an alternative to just helplessly drown in them like a mouse spiralling down the drain. _

_His mouth is perfect. His lower lip juts out just right to hint that pucker effect without giving anything away. I especially admire the shape it takes when he speaks. His lower lip would drift to the side little bit, a charming habbit, and his upper lip moves in such a delectable way that his two front teeth would show every now and then when he talks. Sometimes, I don't fail to notice, when Arthur becomes so immersed in a thought, he doesn't notice his lips slightly parting, tempting me so brutally. I can't help but wonder what would I happen if I kissed them shut._

_His hair is perfect. It just knows where it wants to go. Combative projections have forced Arthur to jump from a moving vehicle, climb up the roof of a 90-storey building, or even go into an actual physical duel against them, but his silky black hair never fails him. Never betrays him. It stays where it's supposed to be. _

_His hands are perfect. On the contrary to common belief, Arthur's ten long fingers aren't rough, nor calloused. I know for a fact that they're smooth and delicate, no matter how he plays the James Bond role in the team, doing the all the dirty work, and it simply doesn't miss to send a jolt through my spine every time his innocent hand would graze my forearm, which happens about every time we're on the job. He has a good grip, too. Not too firm, not too loose. Just enough to keep me steady and upright. And they are delicate, yes. But the texture doesn't necessarily reflect the strength. Arthur has strong, nimble hands that make you wish you were the one they were holding. Like a gun, or a steering wheel, or even a pen. They've always had Arthur's attention._

_Arthur is a movie character. He can't be real. Not a guy this perfect can be trotting this unworthy, imperfect world. He's a larger than life masterpiece painted by Nature's careful and delicate hands. He certainly can't ride with the rest of us. He's just too perfect. _

_And what's utterly wrong about that is I can't have him. No mortal can have him. Because nobody deserves Arthur. This guy keeps himself exclusive, not for anybody to own, not for anybody to have. And you can look, but you can't touch. He reminds me of that pearl preserve in our bio lab that had a big "For Your Eyes Only" sign on it. _

_So, he'd walk past me, his cologne stirring my senses awake, and remind me what I am missing out on. _

_Arthur is as eloquent as any poet, as graceful as any dancer, and as well-mannered as any gentleman. He knows how to treat a lady right, but that can't be misinterpreted into something that goes beyond the realms of plain and simple etiquette. _

_Arthur is neat, efficient, organized, refined, square, direct. He's all about precision, specificity and accuracy. If there's one thing he despises – it's error. Because for him, there's simply no room for such things. _

_Maybe Arthur, in the strickest, most objective sense of the word, is perfect. But he lacks in the department that a poor human like me want him to have. Emotion. Arthur doesn't seem to have the time to direct his focus into something as silly and as human as emotions. For him, life is about manuals and directions and deadlines. Not about something that is as complicated and unpredictable as emotions._

_That's why it confused the brains out of me when during our few days together as a team of criminals, he leaned in and asked me to kiss him. It was too quick that my brain only had little time to catch up before he was already pulling away. "Quick, give me a kiss." It sounded more like an order than a romantic request even. Like he was merely telling me to tie his shoelaces for him, or something. _

_He never mentioned the incident after that, even if it was all I could think about for the next few weeks. His lips were so warm and soft and gentle... nothing like the hard-shelled, sharp man that he was. It took me more than a few times to get over my epic fail. I could've been a lot more responsive if he gave me even the tiniest heads-up. That one-second-kiss became the strongest thing that I had to remember him by. _

_But Arthur doesn't strike me as the kissing type. No. I wonder if sex is even a part of his vocabulary. He seems more like the type to come across a free porn site and click the 'x' button almost insantly. And that's what made him different from the rest of the world. His purposes in life are grand, and he doesn't understand the sentiments that ordinary people have. He speaks different prayers, walks higher grounds, and is inspired by bigger dreams. _

_And closes any reference that pertains to his personal life even before it's opened._

_And that kinda sucks. Because he's hot, and looks fuckable in his sharp and well-executed Fred Astaire attire. It sucks because every erotic thought of him turns my body into a sheath of sensitized giant nerve endings, like something hanging loose in me is just waiting for any form of contact from him before rattling like a motherfucking pendulum high on E, and I couldn't do anything about it._

_It's bloody hard to focus sometimes when we're supposed to be working. Because literally, everything about him is sexual. His voice always makes me fantasize about having sex over the phone, hot, aroused, breathy pants against my ear as he threatens to come. His hand gives me an indulgently vivid vision of me sucking his fingers and leading two of them into my core until I ache in all the right places. And well, his mouth is just. If I had a penny for every time I wished his mouth was somewhere on me, anywhere, I'd be... well, only the fucking richest person in the world.. _

_And usually, while I'm in the midst of a fantasy that involves his skillful tongue licking and biting my neck, real life Arthur, the Arthur who wouldn't lick my neck in a million years, that Arthur, would throw me a half-quizzical, half-annoyed look from across the room, eyes all innocent and clueless. _

_If he only knew. _

_Going under and having an Arthur projection do what the real Arthur is incapable of (or just refuses to) doing to me in real life seems too depraved. I will not resort to that. Plus I don't wanna risk him finding me in a PASIV and deciding to follow me into it, only to walk in on me on all fours, screaming his name hard as his replica plunges into me. That gives a too scary picture that I don't even wanna consider the possibility. (I lied, I do consider the possibity. But every fantasy that ends with Arthur finding out brings a horrific image of him growing another head and transforming into an angry, giant, sevent-legged mutant alien werewolf and turning me into a roadkill with one mighty punch.)_

_If I really think about it, our love story would've made a lot of money. Me, being the kick-ass not-your-ordinary chicka who is a fast-learning, maze-designing architect and him being the intelligent, handsome Point man with his crisp, elegant attitude – we would've made a great couple. For normal people, it's a love story waiting to happen. When I walked into this line of work, it didn't cross my mind initially that hey, I was the only female in the team. Until Arthur kissed me in the dream and I realized... well, he wasn't kissing anybody else. (Or that would've just made Eames glorious.) Plus Arthur and I have the smallest age difference, (and he's simply breath-taking any way you put it.) So one would think... something's waiting to happen between us, anything, from flirtatious eyecontacts here and there, maybe an innocent handbrush or two. I'm single, and from what Eames shares with me, Arthur is unattached as well, and that thing would've happened by now if we were living in a "boy meets girl (and they just Frech-kiss each other's brains out 'till their tongues go numb)" kind of world. But one should remember also that Arthur's not normal, he's not your typical guy who goes out with his buddies on a Friday night, or flirts with women who ever lays their tantalizing eyes on him, which is kinda depressing because... well, no other guy ever has the ability to impress me anymore after I got to meet somebody like Arthur._

_Is that even a good thing? It's like tasting the best wine in the world then being asked to gulp down cheap-ass beer from _Jerry's Backyard_ all over again. _

_A delicious wine would be an accurate metaphor for what Arthur is. Because my tongue desires to taste every reachable part of him from inside out._

_And maybe his exclusivity plays a huge part on what makes him that tragically tempting. You know, when you want something that bad, but there's no way of having it, unless... well, a miracle happens. You know that even when he isn't in the shot, he's being hot somewhere, behind the scene. You know that when he's in the room, it isn't "the room with Arthur in it." It is "Arthur inside the room." _

_And to top it all off, his Highness can speak French, very fluently at that. _

_I remember him once talking over the phone with a client, in French. I closed my eyes and convulsed on the spot. If I weren't Ariadne, if I weren't the supposedly smart girl that the guys had great respect for, if I lost what little restraint I had and lost sight of my values even for just a split second, I would've barged in on his office, straddled my legs wide over his hips and nothing would have had a chance of stopping me. _

_But I was and will always be Ariadne, the smart-ass girl in the group who's respected and treated as if she were merely one of the boys. And I intend to keep it that way. _

_It's like that famous French song, that Arthur probably dislikes because of the tedious progression of the melody. "_Le ciel bleu sur nous peut s'effondrer. Et la terre peut bien s'écrouler..._" The song indirectly speaks about the rope of unconditional love, and how both ends of that rope don't necessarily coincide. Personally, I think it's a disheartening song. But it reminds me of Arthur, and his neat ways. Which kinda makes sense, because I value him like I have never valued anybody else, not even my own mother who's a poet, but there he is, all beautiful and clueless... and the hardest part of all, uninterested._

_So, yeah, Arthur is perfect, all right. But that it itself is wrong. He shouldn't be perfect. He shouldn't parade around like tall drink of water then smack my face with an "I'm off-limits, bitch." Although that would only turn me on. Funny how that guy's sexual any angle you look at it. _

_Ok, I'm just blabbering horny nonsense now. Might as well sleep the night away and go to work tomorrow without anyone aware that it's my birthday. Happy birthday to Moi. 22 fina-fucking-ly. What difference does it make anyway? Will Arthur notice that I've aged a year and decide it was finally time to kiss me and shove his tongue far down my throat till my eyes roll over to the back of my head? _

_I didn't think so, too. So good night, folks. Video log 42, entitled The Arthur Effect, birthday edition. This is me Ariadne, fucklesslonelygirl, signing off. Au revoir!_

_And ooh, before I go,can I just tell you, or myself, since this video log's isn't for anyone's viewing pleasure but mine, that Mom sent me a birthday e-mail earlier today and said, "PS... Hope God gives you what you wish for on your special day."_

_One word scrambled its way to my ding-dong of a brain: Ar-fucking-thur. _

_I don't really believe in the whole 'ask the impossible from God and who knows?' kinda thing, but if God ever decides to replace Arthur's brain even just for a couple of hours with one that's a little bit... more responsive, I guess, to my sexual needs, maybe kiss me till I can't feel my lips, then I'd pray to Him on bended knees 'til 'fros and vests and suspenders go back in style. Oh, wait. _

The shutter clicked, then the screen went kaput.

Eames had a devilish, Great-wall-of-fucking-China wide grin on his face that he couldn't seem to wipe off. He couldn't congratulate himself enough for debating, then deciding, then debating, then deciding altogether to have a little look-see into Ariadne's usually Twinkie-filled bag. All Eames had wanted was a piece of Twinkie, butter-flavored, but what he had found was a little bit better.

He fingered the tape a little while, and ridden of what little trepidation he had, Eames rose from his seat and walked over to Arthur's as-immaculate-as-how-Jesus-was-conceived office.

"Fucklesslonelygirl will be no more." Eames smiled wildly to himself... then carefully placed the tape on top of Arthur's desk.

Ariadne loathed Eames's sly grin so much that she wanted to slap it away from his face with her own two hands. She knew things like that always meant Eames was up to no good. However, Ariadne pondered, when was he ever _not_ up to no good?

"I think we're gonna have to do another test run on the mazes. We don't want last time's little mishap to recur, do we?"

Ariadne nodded like a good girl as Arthur gave the team another list of instructions that seemed to be changing every time he examined the papers and the layout a little bit more closely. Arthur wanted it all perfected, so, like he said, last time's careless maze mishap wouldn't happen again.

Ariadne tried to jot down key points that she knew would come in handy during moments of panic, but couldn't seem to concentrate from Eames's incessant headturns in her direction. She could see them from her peripheral vision, and when she did shift her head to the side, there Eames was, shamelessly looking at her with his meaningful, scheming eyes.

She didn't like it. So she flashed him her darkest, coldest frown. Eames's smile only grew wider. Wanting to know how she could pick up her gladiator sandals and throw them over in his face without anyone noticing, Ariadne looked around to find Yusuf and Cobb paying every ounce of attention to Arthur's neatly-laid directions through the dream from the strawberry-picking in Venice, to moutain-climbing in Kilamanjaro. This was, by far, one of the coolest layouts that Ariadne had ever built.

And she wouldn't be half as proud of herself as she would be if she didn't hit Eames right in the nose right now. As she fingered her way down the straps of her shoes, Ariadne stopped midway and looked at Eames with an irritated confusion when he said in a low voice, "I never would've known."

Never would've known what? This wasn't good. If Eames was being a cryptic-ass motherfucker like that, something must be happening, and Ariadne should worry.

She averted her eyes back to Arthur who was already gathering his things from the desk with an easy swagger, ignoring the empty twinkie wrappers strewn all over the place. Always count on Eames leaving his frigging mess anywhere.

Ariadne was going to rise from her seat, like everybody else had, but Arthur's smooth voice stopped her. "Uh, Ariadne, do you have a minute? I just want to go over some minor details at the third level; I don't think we've gotten everything in that part ironed out yet."

When Ariadne hesitated, Arthur said, "It won't take long, I promise."

So, off they went to Arthur's office, Ariadne trying to be on her best behavior.

What greeted her at the door, though, got her perplexed. Edith Piaf's **_L'hymne à L'amour _****was playing somewhere in the room. The****_ L'hymne à L'amour._****Was she in a dream?**

**_It could just be a coincidience, _****she calmed herself. After all, wasn't it Piaf too who sang their kick song?**

**She buried her hand inside her pockets to feel the unique patterns in her Bishop, just in case. Didn't hurt to be sure. To break the silence that was beginning to get awkward, Ariadne said "I didn't know you liked this song."**

**Arthur shut the door behind him carefully and said in a velvety voice, "Well, there are a lot of things you don't know about me."**

**Okay, hit pause right there. Ariadne looked at him strangely, eyebrows meeting. "Excuse me?" It's not what he said, it's the way he said it. "****_There are a lot of things you don't know about me._****" pronounced in that passionate conviction, as though he was waiting all day just to tell her this.**

**As though Arthur was gonna push her against the wall right there and then and tear her lips apart with his.**

**Seriously, Ari. Stop daydreaming.**

**Then that was it. Arthur ambled his way towards her, hands in pockets, so sure of himself and the effect that this had on Ariadne, Ariadne who was picking up on this and panicking like a deer caught in the headlights. She swallowed, hard, trying to keep her knees steady as she helplessly jerked backwards, only to be met by the sharp edge of Arthur's table. **

**She couldn't help the pant that escaped her throat when Arthur, a dangerous Cheshire smile on his face, braced his arms on both sides of her in one languid movement. ****_. _**

**Again, Ariadne's hand disppeared inside her pockets to finger her totem, her only friend, her only assurance that this wasn't a dream, that Arthur actually her trapped against his body and his fucking sexy table, with eyes that told her... she was gonna have a happy birthday this year. **

**Then all thought drifted with the wind when... okay, Ari, focus.**

**Lean in closer.**

**Close your eyes.**

**Open your mouth.**

**Unnnnffff.**

**That was Arthur's lower lip between hers. That was Arthur's strong hand around her waist pushing her hard against him, that was Arthur's neck she could smell. Dream or not, this felt real enough. And so fucking good that Ariadne's knees wobbled to their own accord. **

**Ariadne snapped. Her hands flew between Arthur's perfect black strands and pulled him closer to her, their noses smashing against each other in rage. When she could feel his tongue slowly, deftly curl against hers in that lazy, leisurely slide, her animalistic cry of pleasure broke out. It wasn't as graceful and as ceremoniously-done as she had in mind, but who in the hell's fuck would bother about aesthetics when an eager Arthur was sucking her jaw, and stroking her breasts through her shirt with big, expert hands?**

**Ariadne wanted to do something, anything, maybe count Arthur's teeth with her frenzied tongue. But the haze of raging lust took over her. She just stood there against the table, knees weak, eyes closed, mouth open, lost in the pleasure as Athur reached under her skirt and run his fingers along the length of her aching thighs. **

**Arthur gripped them, one hand on each thigh and spread them wide so he could climb in between them. Ariadne heard her own guttural scream as something hard coming from him brushed against that perfect spot, which was beginning to pool in an incredible pace. Her legs trembled as slowly, teasingly, Arthur ground his fluid hips against her soaking panties while kissing her tenderly, his careful tongue gently searching for hers. Ariadne felt the tears well in her eyes as their tongues danced together in an unhurried rhythm, taking the moment and letting themselves get lost in it. She couldn't believe she'd wanted it this much. **

**She felt her insides clamor in objection as Arthur began to slowly pull away, giving her bottom lip one last erotic tug. She kept her mouth open to follow his mouth in its retreat, but he gently pushed her away. **

**That left her breathless. She tried to ignore her heart hammering against her chest, the persistent longing in between her legs. She couldn't even open her eyes just yet. Which was insane, because... Arthur wasn't even naked yet.**

**"Ar... thur... don't... please..." Ariadne panted, desperately, missing his warmth and the security that she felt in it. **

**He straigtened up, combed his hair with his fingers and turned to the door. "First of all, I do not lack emotion, I am not perfect and yes, I do love this song." He said with a slight bitterness in his voice.**

**Ariadne hadn't come up for air yet, the aftereffects of the past three minutes of her life still there, lingering like a bitchy hangover. She couldn't find her voice.**

**"Second of all, sex ****_is_**** a part of my vocabulary, and yes, you're right about the part where I ignore pornography in the internet."**

**Ariadne could barely keep one eye open.**

**"Third of all, I don't follow people into their dreams just because they're completely helpless and unconcious for my own benefit without their consent. I'm not a dickwad like Eames."**

**Ariadne felt her weak lips curve into a lazy smile.**

**"So, you know, whenever you find the need... do know that I won't be there to get in your way." was Arthur's direct and honest final word. **

**"Arthur?"**

**"Yes?"**

**"How can you leave me like this when you just spent the past few minutes of your life kissing my brains out?"**

**He was already by the door when he said, "Because wasn't that you asked for?"**

**Ariadne's head snapped up as all the incoherence Arthur had been barking about clicked together and finally made sense. Before Ariadne could ask anything, Arthur beat her to it.**

**"Happy birthday, Ariadne."**

**FIN **


End file.
